Fall Down Seven, Get up…just get up.

Unlike so many other years, I planned to make 2015 a far more productive year when it came to my health and wellness. Like so many, I’d allowed life obligations to get in the way of putting me first for an hour a day and each time I ate something. Comfort food had become a staple and my children were more than noticing my inactivity.
No more! I told myself. This time would be different, so in early February, I signed up for the Lifetime Fitness 90-Day challenge and bought the book by always smiling personal trainer, Chris Powell.

I talked to my friend, Stefan Pinto, a former couch-potato turned model, to get back to center when it came to nutrition.

Stefan lost 60 pounds and became a model. Pretty impressive story.

Now it had come down to me stepping out of my comfort zone and getting off my butt. Hence, why I chose a class I’d never been to before—A Barre Class.

Some would ask why I would even consider taking an exercise class that I’d never tried as a way to start off my better living.

Why not? I hadn’t done anything else since I’d signed up for the 90 Day Challenge two weeks ago, might as well do something new. It might kick start me into a new routine, a new journey. Also, a friend asked me to go and I figured we could keep each other in check.

This Friday morning, it’s only 32F degrees and it started to sprinkle. Certainly, they’d canceled class.

Time to put on the big girl panties and just do this. On the way, I call another friend who’s taken Barre for a year now. She tells me after the first class, she couldn’t lift her arms the next day.

Great. Yippee!!!!!!! I’m kind of feeling like Grumpy Cat right now, but nothing will change on the scale if I don’t so off I go.

9:10—I enter the class. My workout partner isn’t here. Did she cancel and I didn’t see the text? Maybe I can go to Starbucks…oh, wait. No, she’s in the bathroom, asking if I’m here. Shoot, okay, gotta stay.

9:12—I wander around, trying to find the equipment I’ll need for the class. A very nice lady notices me looking clueless and offers to help. “Get the light ones (hand weights) because she has us hold our arms up for a long time.” Holy cow! What have I signed up for?
I grab the rest of the supplies: Mat. Bar. Ball. Slidy-circle thing.

9:13— My workout partner arrives and we look at each other like, “Are we really going this?” It’s too late to leave and neither of us want to be the one to say it. I remove my shoes and notice that I’m in desperate need of a pedicure. Or I could just take off the rest of the toenail polish from the last pedicure.

9:15—The instructor is a lovely woman named Brandi. She’s got a beautiful body and even lovelier smile. “Okay, let’s get started,” she cheers. With such a positive instructor, how bad could this be, right?
Bruno Marz Uptown Funk starts to play for our warm-up.
Nice music. Good beat. This class will fly by I’m sure.

9:25—We’re still warming up. I’m scared. Despite Brandi’s upbeat personality, I’m afraid because she hasn’t alluded to the fact we’re even to the hard stuff yet. She’s asked a few times if “we’re feeling it?” A few women give a “Whoop! Whoop!”
I hate those women.

9:30—Warm up complete. The girl in front of me has worked out so hard, the band of her panties has now crept up over her yoga pants. At least she’s not wearing a thong, but she’s far better at this class than I am so I have nothing to scoff at. I also realize I need to quit staring at her traveling underpants.

9:40—My thighs are screaming and the only other equipment we’ve used so far is the hand weights—-oh wait, now we get to use the bar for balance. More pliets. I’m crying.

9:53—Finally, we get to lay down on the mat…wait, it’s a trick. Now we’re doing crunches with the ball between our knees and Brandi hasn’t stopped smiling. Am I the only one in here who looks like a walrus undulating up the beach?

After catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it occurs to me that this is about the most ungraceful I’ve ever been in an exercise class.
I’m afraid to look at the clock for fear it’s only ten seconds later than it was when I looked before. Am I the only one in this room who can’t lift her ass off the floor in a side lift?

10:00—We still haven’t used the slidy-circle thingy. As many muscle groups that we’ve used, I’m concerned about which ones are left to torture. Oh, crunches and now scissor kicks. I see which muscle groups we’re doing now—still no slide-circle thingy.

10:08—Cool down. Thank the heaves above, I made it. I’ve finished it without falling over dead or using my inhaler.

10:15—Through the entire class, she smiled and couldn’t have been more encouraging. When Brandi announces she has a class on Sunday, I raise my hand that I’ll be there.
Seriously, I do because I’m high from the endorphin release. Plus, the idea of pushing myself through a class I did poorly has appeal. I tell Brandi I’ll be there on Sunday. I might crawl in, but I’ll be there.

She tells me she likes how I modified the moves and that she wanted people to watch what I was doing, but she didn’t know my name. I think she was being nice, but I graciously take the compliment. I know I looked less graceful as the hippos from Fantasia.

I ask my workout partner if she’s coming back and she says she is. That we’re gonna look super hot for the summer.

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Patricia W. Fischer is romance author, journalist, and retired pediatric/adult critical care nurse who’s made her homes in Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana, and Missouri. She has written for many publications including iVillage, Hot Mom’s Club, Modern Mom, Dallas Child, American Journal of Nursing, The Writer’s Edge, Nursing Spectrum, and Chicken Soup for the Soul Series. Read More…